Boy, is The Velvet Teen a crappy superhero. A geeky 16-year-old caught in an explosion at Fabrictron's experimental Nuclear Textile Factory, Jimmy Krauser not only miraculously survived-- but also developed the unique power to transform his skin into a velvet-like substance at will. Forgetting the 'great power' part of the 'with great power comes great responsibility' adage, Jimmy set about fighting the rather pedestrian criminals of his quiet suburban Houston neighborhood, subduing shoplifters and underage drinkers by rubbing the soft, tiny hairs of his velvety forearm against their face. Yet, save the occasional battle with arch-enemy Dr. Velour (same explosion, similar powers, evil, etc.), The Velvet Teen is an unremarkable superhero at best.
The mediocrity of Jimmy and his tactile battle against small-time wrongdoing is reflected in his soundtrack, Out of the Fierce Parade. While Spider-Man gets to swing around buildings to facial-hair rock from members of Nickelback and Alice in Chains, the Velvet Teen's music is of the introspective Northwest indie-rock scene: music for rainy-day snuggling-- not rainy-night, upside-down, slobbery Kirsten Dunst kisses. It's an appropriate matchup, though, as The Velvet Teen the costumed crusader and The Velvet Teen the musical trio both have the same general vibe: well intentioned, but not too original, and not very well executed.
The Velvet Teen are a trio from Cotati, California with a debut album produced by Death Cab for Cutie's Chris Walla. Building most songs around singer/guitarist/key-tickler Judah Nagler's grand piano, the band favors long, slow-burning arrangements blanketed in Walla's usual fetish for the reverb knob. Self-consciously soaring above it all is Nagler's falsetto-more-often-than-not voice, one that is more than a little reminiscent of a certain lazy-eyed Brit whose name rhymes with Yom Thorke.
But like the other 873 would-be Thommys straining their vocal cords these days, Nagler's lack of subtlety and restraint is a quick reminder of the original's considerable emoting skills. Rarely deviating from the upper registers, Nagler's vox fail to underscore the tragi-slacker lyrics, blurring any and all sentiments into an incessant whine. The music, meanwhile, belies a similarly obvious Radiohead lean, albeit one that sets too high a bar for the band-- imagine the fresh-faced and heavy-handed Pablo Honey-era grungers taking on the sleep-deprived paranoia of OK Computer.
This approach leaves Out of the Fierce Parade with a lot of interesting, if familiar, minor-key ideas lost amidst unwieldy five, six, and seven-minute-long navel-gazing arrangements. "A Special Gift for You" and "Into the Open" manage to develop fairly effective dreamy environments, but would still benefit from a few days on the musical Atkins Diet. The obesity of "Red, Like Roses" and "Death," however, goes right down to their genetics-- epics that take two or three minutes to charge up, while never paying any dividends once they finally get rolling.
When things are kept lean, short, and given a bit of a backbone transplant ("Radiapathy," or the synthy C.S. Lewis nod "Caspian Can Wait"), The Velvet Teen sound much more alive, though still stuck in the shadow of their Anglophilia. Sorely in need of an editor, and without a direction or sound to call their own, the band never even comes close to the oddball density of the Henry Miller excerpt they provide in the CD inset (remind me to check Tropic of Cancer out from the library). It ain't crime-fighting music-- hell, it ain't even crime-fighting video game music-- but this is one pathetic superhero that shouldn't be encouraged.
